It was late August. I was heading through France towards Germany, where I'd meet my father and spend a few days hanging out, playing cards, watching bands and drinking tea. France's alpine highways were as picturesque as ever, the sky was clear, and at speed, the air was cool enough to keep the A/C off as I followed miles of smooth, curvy tarmac through the countryside. As the day rolled by and lights started to come on around me, I checked my fuel and looked at the clock, glided across the slow lane and parked up on a gravel slip at the edge of a field, to take a break.

There were a couple of other vans there when I pulled in, but they took off shortly after, leaving me the entire landscape as a parting gift. After a few deep breaths and a period of admiration for the hills and rocks, I got around to making dinner on my single hob, perched on the rest stop table with my tea. The breeze carried a delicate floral scent I couldn't identify, but it went well with the scene and I'll remember it the next time I catch it.

Watching the moon curve across the dying back-light and over a small mountain would have been enough to end the night, but I still felt like pushing on. After I finished my food, I sipped at my peppermint tea and took it all in for just a little longer, before flasking the rest and scooping up my empty plate to put away in the kitchen I'd built from scraps of plywood and dowel.

I listened attentively to the sound of the spring disconnecting the gas canister in the cooker; a sound I'd become accustomed to and even fond of, as one that always signals the end of the break and the start of the driving. It has a kind of finality to it that I started to enjoy.

Never in a rush, I watched the colorful sky as it introduced the moon, whose beauty is lost in every photograph. Looking out of the back doors, across the field and into the distance, I took one last deep lungful of night air, closed the doors and walked the 10 steps back to the cab with my flask and a packet of nut biscuits. The vibe up front is quite the opposite, comparatively devoid of comfort and decorated with lights, switches, levers and dials, all dedicated to leaving, not to staying.

I took my time with the playlist, picking songs for a slow, peaceful drive, turned on the headlights to add a splash of color to the hillside, and fired up the engine, pulling back out onto the now-almost-deserted highway, to follow signs for Germany.

The last thing I saw at the rest stop depicted a lonely quite that visits me from time to time.